Crimson Drops
by kokoda2007
Summary: Sam disregards a promise to Dean to be home before dark and consequently gets attacked. Not wanting to admit his mistake, he decides to hide his injuries.
1. Bleeding

**Title:** Crimson Drops

**Author:** Kokoda2007

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural or the characters …

**Author's Note:** Damn - no time to write an epic. I think this fic will just be a few chapters delving into a little bit of Sammy pain – well, because I can. Needless to say, Dean will make an appearance because what's the point of Sam in pain if Dean isn't around. I must warn, there are a few stray swear words. Sam is 16 and Dean is 20.

**Chapter One**

Crimson drops fell from the edge of his chin, widening the damp red stain on his shirt. He wiped a hand across his brow as an errant splash of blood invaded his eye, but the action was superfluous as the removed drop was quickly replaced by another.

And another.

Head wounds bled like a bitch.

Stopping for a moment as a wave of dizziness washed over him, he reached his fingers up to his head and ran them tentatively through his hair until they grazed the raised bleeding bump. His fingertips came away coated in the warm sticky substance, although he was relived to feel that the blood was now thicker, the wound already starting to clot. But he had one hell of a headache - and knew that the slight blurriness to his vision suggested that he might have a mild concussion to go along with it.

Looking around, he was thankful that the street was near deserted as the final vestiges of daylight were slipping away. He just needed that luck to stay with him, enabling him to reach their house and slip inside unsighted. A near impossible task if Dean was home. His older brother was unerringly alert and it wasn't easy to skirt under his radar. Slipping by Dean would be like trying to break into Fort Knox and making off unnoticed with a truckload of gold. No, he needed Dean to still be out, which was probable at this time on a Thursday night, he thought, for once hopeful that he would be returning to a cold empty house.

He resumed his walk, keeping to the shadows and out of sight – like he'd been trained to do.

Making himself invisible.

As he turned the corner, the house came in to view. As usual, it was easily identifiable, being the most decrepit building in the run down street of long neglected housing. Even in an undesirable area like this, his Dad still managed to find the worst house, in the worst street. When he was younger, he'd made the mistake of admiring the neighbors newly painted house and picket fence, asking his Dad why their house didn't look like that. His father's response of 'lucky to have a roof over your head' put heed to any further questions, and after more than a few nights of sleeping in the car during their travels he finally had to agree.

As he got older, he realised that the main advantage of renting the house that nobody else wanted was that the landlord was usually happy to just take the meagre rent and leave you alone. When there were trails of salt covering window sills and doors, and protection symbols crudely carved into wooden surfaces, this was a good thing. The Winchesters needed their privacy, and snoopy landlords and neighbors were well steered clear of.

If only older brothers were so easy to bypass.

Scanning the house before him, he was relived to see the windows shrouded in darkness and the house quiet. Unless Dean was sleeping, music would betray his presence, always turned up a notch when their dad was away. Added to that, there was no shiny black Impala taking pride of place near the house. His brother rarely let the car leave his sight, so where there was one there was generally the other.

He let out the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, relief flooding through his body.

No longer having to move with stealth, he made his way directly to the front door, unlocking it and stepping inside. Still a little wary, he called out his brother's name, satisfied when he got no answer.

He was home. Alone.

Safe.

Slumping against the closed door, he felt deflated as the adrenaline surge that had helped him get this far left his body. Pain reared its ugly head, assaulting him all at once, drawing his attention to the injuries he had sustained but so far ignored.

His life was really fucked up.

It wasn't bad enough that he had to get beat up by spirits, ghouls and other supernatural entities, but now the local thugs were taking a turn. All for the lousy couple of bucks he carried in his pocket, and maybe a little entertainment in this dead end town.

He should have been able to defend himself better, even avoided the situation altogether. Instead, his mind had been engrossed elsewhere and he hadn't realised the danger he was in until it was too late.

A Winchester taken down by a group of street thugs.

His father would be disappointed.

_His father wouldn't find out_.

It shouldn't be this hard, this complicated. Looking around at the bare floorboards and peeling paint he suddenly felt so alone as his laboured breaths echoed through the sparsely furnished room.

No welcoming light or the aroma of a home cooked meal to guide him home.

No heated room or maternal hug waiting for him.

No one to take the pain away.

Another splash of blood obscuring his vision hastened him out of his morose thoughts and into action. He needed to get himself cleaned up before Dean got home.

Dropping his school bag beside the front door he left the lights off as he made his way to the bathroom at the rear of the small house, only switching on the overhead light as the door clicked quietly closed behind him. Standing in front of the stained mirror hanging crookedly over the sink, he got a good look at himself for the first time since the attack.

Pain filled eyes stared back at him as he took in the blood coating one side of his face and matting his tangled mess of hair.

Glancing down, he wrapped his fingers around the small carved knife handle protruding from his side through his blood soaked t-shirt. The handle was only large enough to wrap three fingers around, not a proper knife at all he thought, and hardly a weapon. Bracing himself with one hand on the sink and taking a deep breath he pulled. The small blade slid out easily and he dropped the blood coated object with a clatter into the sink before releasing his breath.

Uncaring of the already ruined t-shirt, he pulled the bloody garment over his head and pressed the damp fabric to his side. Clamping his hand firmly over the makeshift bandage now covering the bleeding puncture wound, he held tightly, waiting for the blood flow to lessen.

A feeling of light-headedness washed over him, forcing him to close his eyes against the undulating room. Passing out wasn't an option.

The desire to throw up was nearly overpowering, but he swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. He didn't want to be sick. He was too tired to deal with nausea on top of everything else.

Blood soaked through his wadded t-shirt and he belatedly wondered whether removing the knife had been the smartest course of action. He pressed against his side a little harder, keeping his eyes averted from the blossoming flow of red engulfing his t-shirt and dripping down his side.

It hurt like a bitch.

Ironically, it was the knife wound that had saved him. Stabbing him had thrown his attacker off balance as he'd grabbed the guys hand when he'd plunged in the knife, knocking him off balance. Using his training to land a forceful punch to the man's face he had watched as his attacker had stumbled backwards and fallen to the ground. Taking the opportunity to face the other two surprised gang members, he had advanced on them, delivering a well aimed kick to the abdomen of the closest. The third member of the group had cut and run, leaving his comrades behind. Sam had followed his initiative, moving away from the scene before the other two could regroup.

After about ten minutes of the tight pressure the blood flow had reduced to a small trickle and he removed his blood covered hand from the wound. His boots and jeans quickly followed his t-shirt to the floor, until he was standing clad only in his boxers in front of the mirror. Already he cold see the multitude of bruises staring to form across his chest and abdomen where he'd been unable to ward off his attackers' initial strikes.

He'd promised his brother that he'd be home well before dark, but knowing that Dean had a date, he'd stayed at the library a little longer; sure his brother would be none the wiser. But he'd promised Dean – and Winchesters always kept their word. They mightn't have much else, but their father always reminded them that a man's word was his honor.

He didn't want to face his brother's disappointment.

Dean's loss of trust.

Or his father's wrath.

No, this was something he'd keep to himself.

It looked worse than it felt he tried to reassure himself, drawing his eyes away from the image in the mirror.

**oooOOOooo**

_**To be continued…**_

_**Reviews are love.**_


	2. Subterfuge

**Author's Note:** _Damn – did I say "no time to write an epic?" This fic may end up a bit longer than I first envisaged, but I will continue to strive for regular updates so that I can finish it quickly in the next week or so. Of course, this is all thanks to my wonderful reviewers, who although I admit to rarely thanking personally, make writing a joy for me and prompt me to slog away at the keyboard. So a big THANKYOU - your support is overwhelming, inspiring and very much appreciated. _

**Chapter Two**

The thirst hit him first.

His tongue was plastered to the roof of his parched mouth and he licked his lips, trying to find some much needed moisture.

Rolling over in bed with a groan, memories of the previous night flooded back to his consciousness. Darting his bleary eyes to the bed opposite, he saw the draped form of his brother across the sagging mattress, mouth hanging open and snoring softly.

He gave a silent prayer of thanks.

His efforts in cleaning up the blood trail from the front door to the bathroom had obviously been sufficient. Either that or Dean had been too inebriated to notice. After his shower the night before, he'd wanted nothing more that to crawl into bed and sleep, but one look around the blood splattered bathroom and trail leading away from it and he'd known that sleep would have to wait. Ignoring his throbbing head and aching side, he'd used a damp towel to mop up the blood splatter, before bundling the towel and his stained clothes into a bag and hiding them under his bed. He could dispose of them later. Most importantly, he'd removed the evidence.

Right now he needed a drink, before his tongue stuck permanently to the roof of his mouth. He was forced to bite down on his lip to hide the gasp of pain as he tossed aside the bed covers and pushed himself out of bed. His whole side throbbed in time with his heart beat and he felt the pull of the bandage against his tender skin. A small damp spot stood out in stark contrast on his grey t-shirt where the blood had soaked through the gauze bandage and stained yet another shirt. He'd have to be more careful or he'd run out of clothes.

The trip to the bathroom was slow but he made it without incident, forcing his sluggish body to obey his commands. Locking the door to secure his privacy he turned on the shower and stripped off his sweat stained clothes. Removing the bandage on his side was painful, but he pulled it off quickly with one strong yank. He'd always preferred the short intense burn of pain over the less painful but drawn out variety. Stepping into the shower, he let the warm water wash away the last remnants of sleep and the lingering blood adhering to his skin. Only when the water ran clear did he turn it off and step out of the shower.

After towelling himself dry, he bandaged the knife wound before it could start bleeding again; already deciding that a dark colored t-shirt would be preferable should he need to conceal a blood stain. Dean and his Dad might complain about his hair, but at least the added length could hide the odd scar and bump, and with a few selective stokes of his fingers through the damp waves he found he could conceal the raised welt on the side of his head with little difficulty.

Realising that he'd neglected to bring clean clothes to change into, he slipped on his blood stained t-shirt again and wrapped the towel around his waist before leaving the bathroom. With a little luck he could sneak back into the bedroom and retrieve some clean clothes without waking his brother.

Dean's night had obviously gone well, Sam thought, seeing his twenty year old brother still lying fast asleep on his bed, his position unchanged from when Sam had first left the room. Not wanting to push his luck, he grabbed the first articles of clean clothing that he could lay his hands on and left the room, pulling the door nearly closed on his way out. He wasn't game to close it completely, knowing the gentle click would most likely wake his brother.

Retreating back to the bathroom, he changed into the fresh clothes before balling up his dirty t-shirt in the damp towel and shoving them at the bottom of the dirty laundry pile heaped in the corner of the room.

He rubbed a hand across his weary eyes. Subterfuge was exhausting, and the day had barely begun.

Although his image in the mirror revealed he looked a little pale, his appearance was otherwise unchanged, showing no hint of last night's activities. He'd successfully managed to hide his injuries under his baggy clothes and scruffy hair. It wasn't the first time, and unlikely to be the last.

Delving into the first aid kit for a final time, he extracted a packet of mild pain killers, swallowing two with a handful of water before shoving the rest of the packet into his pocket.

He briefly considered skipping school and just giving in to the desire to stay in bed for the day, the thought of lying back down almost too irresistible to deny. His older brother wouldn't care, but he'd be curious. More than curious. Sam never missed a day of school if he could help it. No, a day off school just wasn't worth the copious amounts of questioning the unusual action would entail. Dean would see through his lies in minutes. He always did.

Collecting the used bandage off the sink, he scanned the bathroom quickly, making sure to remove all evidence of blood before unlocking the door and leaving the damp mould infested room.

Eager to leave the house before Dean woke, he grabbed himself an apple off the kitchen counter for lunch before collecting his bag from next to the front door, where he'd dropped it the night before.

He let himself out of the house, locking the door securely behind him. He needed to hurry to make it to school before the first bell.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean woke with a start and glanced at the alarm clock on the dresser.

Shit, he'd overslept. Again.

His brother's bed was empty.

"Sam?" He called, not expecting a response.

Being late for school was one of Sam's pet peeves, so it was unlikely he'd be hanging around the house waiting for Dean to wake up and give him a lift. Sam was sixteen now anyway and finally starting to desire a measure of independence. It wasn't like he couldn't make his own way to and from school. After all, it was only a few blocks away and the kid had two good legs.

Realising that his services as a chauffeur weren't going to be required this morning, he lay back down on the bed and made himself comfortable again. He had nothing urgent vying for his attention. In fact, as their father wasn't due back until this evening, he intended to take the opportunity for a little "Dean Time" and just hang around the house, watch TV and listen to some music. No cleaning guns, making ammunition or sharpening blades for him today. There'd be enough of that when their Dad got home.

Anyway, he had one mother of a hangover to endure.

**oooOOOooo**

It took him longer to walk the few blocks to school than it usually did, his body was feeling unnaturally heavy and each leaden step took determined effort. His forehead glistened with a fine sheen of sweat despite the gentle pace he'd set himself. He was starting to view the long day of school ahead of him as a burden to be endured instead of with his usual keen anticipation.

He kicked a small stone in frustration.

Maybe coming to school hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had.

He really wasn't feeling that great and tackling the day ahead weighed heavily on him. Maybe Dean would understand and forgive him this time. Then again, maybe not. Trust was a tricky thing that needed to be earned. He could hear the echo of his own voice in his head, telling his Dad and brother that he was sixteen now - he was old enough to go out on his own, do things on his own …that they could trust him.

He wanted some independence. He needed it.

It was going to be a long day.

Trudging through the school entrance as the final belled tolled, he made his way to his first class, taking his allocated seat with a sigh of relief. He watched as the teacher entered the room, calling everyone's attention to the front of the classroom. Slumping down in his seat, he focused his attention on the teacher's words.

The first few hours of school passed by in a bit of a daze. Although he tried to concentrate on each subject, sitting still in the uncomfortable chairs exacerbated the throbbing in his side, and he knew that a small amount of blood was seeping from the wound again, soaking through the gauze taped to his side. He kept his jacket pulled across his body to hide the spreading mark. He'd need to put on another fresh bandage as soon as he got home.

Massaging his temple, he noticed that the throbbing in his side was keeping religious pace with the pounding in his head. Maintaining the façade of studious attention was a struggle, and even keeping his eyes open and looking at the blackboard in front of him was becoming more of an effort as the morning progressed. Continued glances at the clock reassured him that it was only a few more minutes until lunchtime. Surely he could hold on until then.

When the break for lunch was finally called, it couldn't have come soon enough. He barely had the energy to move from his seat. Waiting for the bustling crowd to move past him, he rose slowly, swaying a little as the room shifted out of focus as he sought his centre of balance. On legs that he wasn't confident were going to support him, he quietly left the now empty room, avoiding his friends and making his way to a secluded bench outside that wasn't yet taken.

Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out the packet of pain pills and swallowed two dry. He needed all the help he could get.

Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to control the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him as the solid white pills caught in his parched throat.

"Hey Sam!" The friendly slap to his shoulder reverberated through his entire body and he bit back the grimace of pain that ensued.

He raised tired eyes to see his friend Josh take a seat on the bench beside him.

"Hey man, you don't look so good." Josh observed, catching sight of Sam's pale face.

"Headache." Sam replied, still concentrating on keeping the nausea at bay.

"Hangover?"

"Yeah, I wish."

As more friends joined them on the bench, Sam slunk into the background, listening to his friend's conversation but contributing little. As the lunch break drew to a close, he idly fingered the cell phone in his pocket, tempted for a moment to call his brother and beg off school for the rest of the day.

"Hey Sam …Sam!" Josh called for his attention.

"Yeah?"

"You ready for gym class? You know we're practicing those drills again today."

Shit, he'd forgotten all about this afternoon's session in the gym. "Uh, yeah, guess so."

"Yeah …we're gonna kick ass." Josh replied with a wide grin.

At the end of lunch Sam followed his friends back into the school building, making a last minute detour to use the bathroom, grateful to find the room deserted.

He pushed closed the door to the toilet cubicle, locking the latch in place before dropping to his knees in front of the porcelain bowl.

He didn't fight the heaves when they came. He didn't have the strength or the energy. He just wrapped one hand around his wounded side and braced the other on the wall and let it happen. When his stomach had finally expelled all of its contents, he remained unmoved, dry heaving as his body failed to recognise that he had no more to offer.

Pain laced through his body, a slight fever already starting to take hold.

He was really starting to feel like crap.

God, he thought, wiping a hand across the beads of sweat adhering to his forehead, could his day get any worse.

**oooOOOooo**

_**To be continued…**_

_**Reviews are love.**_


	3. Game Face

**Author's Note:** WOW – thank you everyone for the reviews. I actually sat on the first chapter and a half for a couple of months not sure whether to post this fic. Now I feel a little guilty making you wait two days for the update. Glad you're all enjoying – that's my aim.

**Chapter T****hree**

Sam sat back on his haunches beside the toilet, not yet confident that the nausea wouldn't make a reappearance. He took slow measured breaths, fighting to bring his breathing back under control, determined to take back control of his body.

Wiping away the sweat from his face, he spat the last traces of vomit from his mouth into the toilet, flushing away all evidence of his ordeal.

He knew he was going to be late for his next class, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't hear any activity in the hallway, so he knew veryone else had already made their way to class, at least allowing him a small measure of privacy and time to pull himself back together – to put on his game face.

He wondered what Dean was doing right at this moment. Was he following their Dad's instructions and cleaning the weapons cache, sharpening their knives, or restocking their supplies.

Probably.

Some chores Dean didn't really consider to be chores at all. Not like Sam did.

Chores that normal households took for granted were unlikely to be done. The dirty dishes were already starting to accumulate in the sink and the pile of laundry was multiplying as each day went by.

Shit, he hoped Dean didn't touch the laundry.

A small smile crossed his face at the thought. Dean doing laundry was about as likely as hell freezing over. Even if his brother had run out of clean clothes, he'd wait until Sam got home and delegate the laundry task. Privilege of the oldest apparently. He felt pretty confident his blood stained clothes at the bottom of the dirty clothes pile would be safe for the time being. He loved his brother, but at times his personal hygiene left a lot to be desired.

The cramp working its way through his calf muscle finally enticed him to move off the cold grimy floor. Although his stomach was still rolling, its contents had stayed put for the last ten minutes so he decided it was safe to move. Swaying like a drunk after a heavy night, he pushed himself to his feet, leaning against the wall for support as he adjusted to the sudden change of position.

He had not intention of joining his class, the lesson would already be well under progress, and making an entrance in his condition wasn't such a great idea. In his mind he could picture everyone turning around in their seats to stare at him as he tried to enter the classroom quietly and slip unnoticed behind his desk. He didn't think that would go down well. He could afford to skip the one class; he just hoped that no one would notice his absence.

He had about half and hour left until the final class for the day started. Gym class. Usually the class he looked forward to ending the day with. Immediately upon arriving at the school, he'd been teamed up with Josh and they'd made a winning combination, undefeated in the drills the coach regularly put them through at the start of each session.

He realised he should've put a little more thought into how this day was going to pan out; but had to admit that he'd expected to be feeling better by now. Not fully recovered, but at least improving.

His options at this stage were fairly limited. If he went to the school nurse, she'd no doubt want to call a parent to come and collect him and take him home. It wasn't a risk he was keen to take.

He could always just ditch school for the rest of the afternoon, lie low, and go home a little later. Of course, odds were that his absence would be noticed. Having never ditched school before, he wasn't really sure of what the school's procedures were if he just didn't show up for class for the rest of the afternoon.

He could suck it up and go to gym class. He'd come this far, all he had to do was get through the final class for the day and then he could go home, nobody being any the wiser.

Toughen up...

Grow up...

Stop whining…

The phrases thrown at him by his father reverberated through his head.

He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. Yeah, he could do it.

Twenty minutes later, Sam slipped quietly into the hallway and made his way towards the gymnasium. He wanted to be changed and ready before everyone else arrived, not wanting to risk someone spotting the bandage on his side.

**oooOOOooo**

Music blared through the small house, rattling the windows and shaking the walls. Dean was in heaven as he hummed along to his favourite songs. Sweeping a clutter of dirty dishes towards the direction of the sink, he cleared enough bench space to prepare himself a sandwich.

They'd be time enough to give the old house a cursory clean before their Dad got home if Sam helped him after school. It shouldn't take the two of them more than an hour or two to put the place into a semblance of order. It wasn't like their Dad was a clean freak. They just needed to do enough to pass muster.

He piled the sandwich high, making a note to pick up some more bread later on. Sam would be guaranteed to whine if there wasn't anything in the house to snack on. Kid ate like a horse with hollow legs.

Taking a large mouthful of the sandwich, he retreated back to the couch, determined to milk the last couple of hours of solitude from the day. Life was good.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam was already in the gymnasium, resting on a bench seat, when the rest of the class arrived.

Seventy five minutes to the final bell.

'Suck it up Winchester' he chanted in his head, taking his position in line with the rest of his class. Josh slotted in beside him as they listened to the instructions from the coach.

"Okay boys, before we start I want the usual warm-up run around the court."

Seventy-two minutes to go. Not that he was counting or anything.

He didn't even attempt his usual warm-up sprint around the court, instead settling for a slow jog. Josh streamed ahead of him, but he didn't try to keep pace, content to stay at the back of the pack. He blocked out his surroundings, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and taking even steady breaths as he completed his circuits of the court.

Sixty five minutes. Sam panted as he glanced at his watch, willing the hands to move a little faster.

The first push-up sent a shaft of white hot pain shooting through his side and he lay back down on the floor with his forehead resting against the cold timber. A few drops of sweat rolled off his face and fell to the floor.

"Pick up the pace …I want to see a little more effort ...this isn't kindergarten." Coach yelled, evoking his inner drill sergeant.

Sam stifled a groan as he positioned his arms for another attempt. His body screamed in protest, but he forced his arms to lift his weight. _Two …three…_

"You too Collins …Winchester …come on boys, I know you can do better than that."

…_Four …five._ He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. _…Six …seven._

"My grandmother can do better than that …Adams, I want to see those arms fully extended …O'Connor, get those knees off the floor …Winchester, no time for napping. …Come on boys, I want to see at least ten more." Coach paced up and down, keeping a keen eye on the boys, ensuring they each gave it their best.

**oooOOOooo**

_**To be continued…**_

_**Reviews are love.**_


	4. Found Out

**Author's Note:** What can I say – the support has overwhelmed me. Many thanks to everyone – can't tell you what a great feeling it is to see that people are reading and reviewing what I write.

**Chapter ****Four**

He welcomed the feel of the smooth polished timber beneath his face. He could hear the muted sounds of the coach yelling in the background but couldn't make out the actual words. He knew he needed to get moving again, but he needed just a moment to catch his breath. Just a moment to give his body the rest it craved.

He'd move in just a moment.

"Winchester!"

The abrupt shout of his name penetrated through the fuzz clouding his mind. He tried to mute it out.

Just one more minute he wanted to protest to the coach.

"Hey man, you okay?" Josh asked quietly at his side.

Sam opened his eyes to see the face of his friend peering at him in concern.

"Yeah …leg cramp." He offered in way of explanation, still making no effort to move.

Josh reached out his hand, silently offering to help pull him to his feet.

"Just ah … I just need a sec." Sam told his friend, taking a deep breath and resigning himself to getting up off the floor.

He knew he had to move. The longer he lay prone, the harder it was getting to find the will or the energy to move. Pain lanced through his side, each movement igniting the fire burning across his skin. The simple act of rising to his feet seemed almost insurmountable, even with the aid of his friend.

Maybe if he just rested a little bit longer.

"Winchester …you planning on joining us anytime soon?"

The coach's tone hit a familiar chord. He sounded just like his father.

Pushing himself up slightly, he reached across and grasped Josh's outstretched had, letting his friend do most of the work in pulling him to his feet. Josh looked a little surprised, but didn't have the opportunity to question Sam further.

"I want you boys lined up behind the white line. …Now." Coach yelled to the class.

Everyone, including Sam, scrambled into position.

Sixty minutes before class ended and school was over for the day - Sam kept that thought in his head.

Just an hour.

Sam felt the room around him tilt a little, making him feel dizzy and disorientated. He felt his body sway despite his strong resolve to stand steady. Trying to disguise the movement, he leaned over and held onto his leg, rubbing the calf muscle rhythmically. The rush of blood back to his head helped clear the fuzz clouding his vision. He needed to hold it together, keep focused.

"Okay boys, you know the drill …team up …same as last week …we're going to run the same drills …and I want to see some improvement on last week's efforts." The coach watched as everyone jumped to follow his direction.

Everyone except for Sam Winchester.

The Winchester boy was one of his best athletes. He followed directions like he'd been born to it and had a natural athletic ability. Never whined or complained. In fact, he usually completed even the most grueling of workouts with ease, seeming to enjoy the physical activity.

It wasn't like Sam to slack off, he though in concern, and he hadn't failed to notice the kid's abstract rubbing of his leg.

Noticing that Sam had yet to move, he felt his worry rise up a notch.

"Is there a problem here?"

Sam startled, taken aback that he hadn't heard the coach approach. "I um …ah …might've pulled a muscle or something." Sam staggered slightly as he attempted to straighten up. Josh hovered at his side, waiting to lend a hand if necessary.

Coach took a good look at the kid and didn't like what he saw. It was pretty obvious to anyone with two eyes that the kid was sick.

"Think you better sit this one out. …Josh, why don't you help Sam gather his things and take him down to see the nurse."

"Coach its only and hour 'til school ends – can't I just go early?" Sam tried not to sound too desperate.

"You know you can't do that Sam …school policy and everything."

"Yeah, freakin' school policy." Sam muttered as he headed back to the change rooms with Josh in tow.

Sam didn't bother changing. Remaining upright on his way out of the gym had sapped his remaining energy. Now he just felt drained. Completely exhausted with no reserves left to draw upon. He leaned tiredly against the bank of lockers, trying to get his muddled brain to figure out his next move.

He just needed one more strategy.

But he was so damn tired and his mind drew a blank. He didn't want to struggle anymore.

Closing his eyes he pictured his welcoming bed in the room he shared with Dean. He could almost feel the softness of the mattress under his body and the warm blanket pulled up tight. Sleep beckoned him.

"Sam …SAM!" Josh yelled, grabbing his arm and supporting his weight as he slid sideways against the lockers.

Sam blinked, where he was coming back to him with stark clarity. He took a step forward and slumped down onto the wooden bench between the rows of lockers.

"Sorry man …" Sam said to Josh as he watched his friend collect his things and shove them into his bag.

"Shit Sam, thought you just had a headache …why didn't you say something? … …You gonna be able to make it down to the nurse's office?"

"Yeah …just help me up."

Sam made his was towards the nurse's office with Josh at his shoulder, carrying his bag. Their progress was slow but steady, and he was in no hurry to reach their destination. He wasn't keen on being under the close scrutiny of the nurse and only hoped that since it was late Friday afternoon and school was nearly finished that she'd just let him wait it out until the final bell.

When his pace slowed he wasn't sure if he was subconsciously trying to avoid the inevitable or if he just couldn't move any faster. Josh slowed his pace to match, showing his relief when they made it to the nurse's office without incident.

"Want me to wait?" Josh asked, pushing open the door and dropping Sam's bag to the floor.

"Nah …go back and kick some ass…" Sam looked up as the school nurse strode in from the back office.

"Okay …catch ya later…" Josh didn't stay around to argue. The pointed gaze from the old battleaxe of a nurse was enough to send him running.

Sam stood awkwardly in the centre of the small room as the nurse approached him. He didn't blame his friend for making a hasty retreat. If he didn't feel like absolute crap he would have done the same. He tried to hold steady under her gaze as she approached him, coming right up close and invading his personal space.

He couldn't help but take a half step back.

Nurse Canfield recognized the student standing before her. Sam Winchester wasn't one of the usual group of hypochondriacs looking at getting a few hours reprieve from school. In fact, the kid looked pale and sickly, like he was about to keel over at any moment.

"What seems to be the problem?" She asked, running an assessing eye over her new patient.

"Ah …Coach sent me…"

"And?"

"I ah …I …have leg cramp."

"And?"

What is this, he thought, the friggin' inquisition?

"Headache?" He responded, hoping that would satisfy the old dragon.

"Well, sit down on the bed and let me take a look at you." She gestured to the low lying bed pushed against the far wall.

Sam took the few steps over to the bed and sat down, perching close to the edge - as if he needed to be ready to make a quick get away.

"I'm fine." He stated. "…Really" He added when the nurse raised her eyebrows at him.

"Well, it's my job to make sure you are."

He just wanted a quiet spot to sit and rest until school finished for the day, surely that wasn't too much to ask. He didn't want Nurse Canfield to start poking and prodding him.

The thermometer was slipped into his ear before he had the chance to protest. He tried to squirm away, but she stopped him with a firm hand on his forehead to hold him still.

"Don't move - this'll only take a minute."

When the thermometer beeped she finally withdrew the intrusion. He didn't need a thermometer to tell him that he was running a temperature; he could feel the added heat burning in his body.

"Seems you've got a slight fever." She stated the obvious.

"Must be coming down with a cold." He answered, giving her an innocent look.

"Any other pain besides the leg cramp and headache?"

"Nah …can I go back to class now?" He wasn't happy being under such close scrutiny.

Nurse Canfield shook he head. Most days her office was filled with kids whose sole purpose was getting a sick pass to avoid some math's test or other school activity. Although she loved her vocation, she despised the fact that her skills were put to so little use and loathed the students who wasted her time with make believe ailments. Now, frustratingly enough, a kid who's obviously sick wants to pretend that he's not. She couldn't in all conscience play along with his game. That would be negligent of her and could wind her up in a world of trouble.

Looking closely at her patient, she could see that he was in pain, despite his attempts to hide it. Coupled with an apparent fever, it didn't take a nursing degree to know that something else was going on here.

"Sam, is there something else you haven't told me?" She tried to keep her tone even, hoping he would confide in her.

Sam really didn't want to be here. "No."

"Well, why don't you lie back and rest for a moment…"

Sam complied without hesitation.

"…and I'll just call you folks to come and get you." Nurse Canfield didn't miss the look that crossed his face.

Sam looked at his watch. Not long now until school ended. "Ah, can't I just wait here until classes end?"

"I'd feel a lot more comfortable if someone came to collect you …in fact, I insist on it."

Sam closed his eyes as a wave of nausea threatened to make an appearance. "Yeah, whatever," he muttered, wondering at which point he had lost complete control over his life.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean strode into the bedroom he shared with Sam, running a cursory eye around the messy room. If Sam had borrowed his old walkman he was going to kill him. Already he'd searched the rest of the house and his own gear for the elusive item, and this was his last stop. He wasn't willing to admit that he might have misplaced it himself. He really wanted the cassette tape he'd left in it so that he could play it in the car

When shaking out Sam's bed covers didn't yield any results, he rummaged through Sam's bag, still coming up empty handed. Getting down on all fours, he reached under the bed, pulling out the few items hidden there. Grimacing at the couple of smelly socks he'd accidentally touched, he pulled open the plastic bag, letting its contents spill to the floor.

He inhaled the familiar scent of damp cotton and stale blood.

Shit.

Concern competed with anger. As he rose to his feet, the urgency of finding his walkman was forgotten. He'd reached the kitchen and collected his car keys just as the phone started to ring. He was torn between answering the damn thing and rushing to get to the school to find his brother.

He picked up.

"Yeah?" He practically yelled into the mouthpiece.

"This is Nurse Canfield from the school – I'm phoning about Sam Winchester…"

Dean gripped the phone tightly as he felt his heart drop.

"I'm his brother…"

**oooOOOooo**

_**To be continued…**_

_**Reviews are love.**_


	5. Guilt

**Author's Note:** I have to warn that there are a few swear words in this chapter – they just slipped out.

I really appreciate all the reviews – they're really boosting my writing confidence which has been a bit down recently. So, THANK YOU!!!

**oooOOOooo**

**Chapter ****Five**

Dean didn't break stride as he moved with purpose through the entrance of the school building. Making his way through the still deserted hallways, he followed the verbal directions given to him by the school nurse, hoping he hadn't missed a turn and would reach her office without the need to back track.

He wanted to see his brother.

He needed to.

Sam had to be okay, he thought, fear and anxiety causing his heart to pound a little faster.

The nurse had been vague about Sam's condition, but the fact that he was in the nurse's office at all was a bit disconcerting. It wasn't like Sam. His kid brother didn't like to draw attention to himself and was much more likely to suck it up for the day rather than seek out the help of a stranger. Even if that stranger was the school nurse.

Sam's strive for independence was going to be the death of him.

At last the well signed door came into sight and he picked up his pace, one step short of jogging. He needed information and he needed it now. Pushing open the door, he rushed into the room, eyes frantically searching for sight of Sam.

When his eyes alighted on the prone form of his brother lying on the narrow bed he moved instinctively in that direction, only to be stopped short by the middle aged woman who stepped in the path between himself and his brother. His first reaction was to push her aside. He needed to get to Sam.

"Shhhh" she whispered. "He's just fallen asleep."

He stopped in his tracks, looking around her to peer more closely at Sam, relieved to see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"He's just sleeping?"

"Drifted off a few minutes ago …you're his brother, Dean?"

"Yeah. So ah …what's wrong with Sam …I mean, why's he here – in your office?"

"Coach sent him down – under protest I gather..."

Yeah Dean thought, that sounds like Sam.

"He only came down five or so minutes before I called you. Apparently he had a leg cramp, or so he says. He's running a bit of a temperature so I thought it best to call his family rather than let him make his own way home."

"Thanks."

"He just doesn't look that great." She added as an after though, her eyes resting on the pale student. "You might want to take him to a doctor and have someone take a proper look at him."

"Yeah, I'll do that …so I'm right to take him home now?"

"Yes, I just need you to sign him out." She said, walking to the desk to retrieve the required form.

Dean moved over to the bed, propping himself on the edge. Leaning over his brother, he gently shook his shoulder. "Sam, wake up."

"Huh" Sam mumbled, opening heavy eyes to look into the face of his brother.

Sam tried to determine Dean's mood from his facial expression. Not being able to focus didn't make the job any easier. He just hoped it wasn't anger he could see in his brother's eyes. Or disappointment. After the crap day he'd endured, he really wasn't feeling up to a verbal sparring match with Dean just yet.

"Come on Sammy, time to get up – we're going home."

Pleased the see his brother open his eyes, Dean stood up and crossed the room, signing the required form that allowed him to take Sam from the school early. Ridiculous procedure really, he thought, when most teenagers would leave the school whenever they felt like it …or maybe that was just him.

Sam pushed himself to a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He kept a firm grip on the mattress as the blood seemed to rush away from his head causing the room to waver around him and bringing back the feeling of nausea. Actually standing was going to take a bit more effort. He decided he'd wait until the absolute last minute to rise to his feet.

"Today works for me." Dean stated when Sam remained seated on the bed.

"Yeah, I'm coming." Sam mumbled.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet. If he though the blood rushing from his head when he sat up was bad - then this was much worse. For a moment, he lost complete focus as everything started spinning around him - before his world tilted and he pitched towards the floor.

"Sam!" Dean saw his brother sway on his feet and raced to reach his side before he could fall.

Dean staggered under the weight as he caught hold of his brother just as Sam listed sideways.

"I'm 'kay." Sam muttered leaning heavily on Dean.

"Yeah, could've fooled me." Dean staggered under the unrelenting weight, wrapping an arm under his brother's shoulders to keep him upright. "When'd you get so God damn heavy?"

"Huh?"

"Come on genius, time to go home."

"I think I should maybe call an ambulance, he…" Nurse Canfield couldn't hide her concern as she watched what little color Sam had bleach from his face as he struggled to remain standing.

"No." Dean interrupted harshly before toning down his voice. "I can manage …car's parked right out front …it'll be quicker if I just take him." Dean steered Sam towards the door, bending awkwardly to pick up his brother's bag which lay discarded on the floor.

"Come on Sam, help me out here." Dean whispered near his brother's ear.

"Dean?"

"Shit."

**oooOOOooo**

Sam couldn't quite understand how he was moving when he couldn't get a brain signal to his leaden limbs. It hurt to move, every step jarring his bruised and tender body.

He just wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep.

He let his body relax.

Let his limbs go lax.

"Sam!"

Pain seared through his body as a sharp jolt accompanied the bark of his name. He wondered why the fuck everyone couldn't just leave him alone.

"Come on Sam, you can sleep later. You gotta keep going… just a bit longer …we're nearly there."

"…'mmm sorry." Sam slurred, throbbing pain bringing awareness back. He tried to carry a little more of his own weight and get his uncooperative legs to move in synch with Dean's.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

Sam wanted to explain, to apologize, but didn't know where to start. He stayed silent, mulling over how he should explain everything to Dean.

"…Sam, you still with me?"

"I …ah …sorry."

"Save the sorry for later okay …right now, I just want to get the hell out of this place in case nurse what's her name changes her mind about letting you go. …this place is as friggin' hard to get out of as a damn hospital."

Sam knew he was leaning heavily on his brother, so he pulled away a little and tried to move a bit faster, feeling guilty for having his brother dragged down to the school to collect him. He still wasn't sure how Dean was going to react when they reached the privacy of the car, or the seclusion of the house.

He wasn't sure how much he should tell his brother.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam managed to drift off to sleep again in the Impala on the short trip back to the house. Dean tried to keep the worry at bay, knowing that this level of lethargy wasn't a good sign.

He tossed around the idea of taking Sam straight to the hospital, or at least a medical clinic, but decided that that could wait until he knew exactly what he was dealing with. He was done with his kid brother keeping secrets from him.

Pulling the Impala to a stop directly in front of the house, again he went through the rigmarole of waking his brother and half carrying him, thankful to finally deposit Sam's weight on his unmade bed. The opened bag of bloody clothes lay tossed on the floor by his feet where he had left them – a stark reminder of his earlier fear. Fear that remained as he took in his brother's pale face glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. His kid brother was obviously in pain, probably had been all day. He could have kicked himself for not getting up this morning and seeing his brother off to school. For not checking on him when he came home last night.

For doing nothing – nothing at all to ensure that Sam was safe.

Sam was his responsibility and he'd failed.

Sam lay on the bed and watched his brother with trepidation. He let his body rest against the mattress, panting from both the effort of getting there and the pain pulsating through his body. He couldn't help but wonder if Dean would let him sleep now that they were home.

Probably not - if his expression was anything to go by.

His brother looked seriously pissed.

Anticipating the tirade about to start, Sam tried to push himself up a little on the bed so that he didn't look quite so pathetic, even though he felt that way. The pain in his side just wouldn't let up and the headache that had lingered all day was now hitting him with full force. He hoped that if he just lay still and listened; if he let Dean dish out the well deserved tongue lashing; then maybe he would be allowed to finally rest.

He watched as Dean's jaw tightened and he flexed his fingers, cracking a couple of knuckles.

Sam's body tensed in anticipation, fists clenching in the bedcovers in an attempt to manage the pain. He lay silent as Dean leant over and picked up the blood stained towel and clothes, holding them in front of him – silently letting Sam know what he had discovered.

Dean's intense glare was unnerving.

Sam swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth but didn't say anything.

Dean tossed the items into the corner of the room without breaking eye contact.

"I fucked up okay." Sam said in a quiet pain filled voice, a small tear escaping from the corner of his eye.

**oooOOOooo**

_**To be continued… **_

_**Reviews are love.**_


	6. Confiding

**Author's Note: **_Apologies for the slow update and short chapter. My hand had an altercation with a pruning saw and I'm now down to one-handed typing (fortunately I had some of this chapter written before the accident). Stitches won't be out for another 10 days (I'm sure I'll be able to draw on this experience in a future fic) so please bear with me – I will finish this fic, just not as quickly as I'd planned._

_Special thanks go out to SalemsChild who helped me with some medical information and a direction for the rest of this story._

**oooOOOooo**

**Chapter Six**

Dean wondered how it was possible to love somebody so much, and yet be so angry you wanted to punch them. Hard.

But it wasn't just Sam he was angry at, it was himself as well. He couldn't lump all the blame at his brother's feet. As the oldest it was his responsibility to look out for his kid brother, and even if on occasion that was a bit tiresome, well, that's just how it was. He didn't want to change the status quo.

He always thought that he and Sam were close – as close as two brothers could be. Hell, he'd carried Sammy from a burning house and ever since he'd felt that watching out for the kid had been the most important thing in his life. More important than their Dad. Hunting. More important than anything.

He wondered at which point Sam had stopped confiding in him. Stopped telling him everything that was going on in his life. He'd thought he was more than just a brother to Sam. He wanted to believe that he was Sam's closest friend as well. His confidant. They moved around so much that neither of them had much opportunity to forge close friendships - but they always had each other. Didn't matter where they were, in each other they always had someone to talk to - and Sam had always liked to talk.

Now it seemed things had changed without him even realizing it; and it wasn't a change he felt entirely comfortable with. He knew his brother was growing up and that he had to let him have his space, but he didn't want to contemplate that Sam just didn't need him anymore.

As he watched the small tear escape unheeded from Sam's eye, the momentary anger, guilt and self remorse vanished, fear and concern taking their place. Explanations could wait; now he needed to find out what injuries his brother was harboring.

Dropping down to prop himself on the edge of the bed, he placed a hand on his brother's forehead, feeling the head radiating off him. Sam closed his eyes under the gentle touch.

"Hey Sam, I need you to tell me where you're hurt …bleeding."

Sam opened his eyes again, trying to reconcile the brother before him with the angry one he'd faced just moments before.

"You're not angry at me?" Sam whispered.

"You scared the shit out of me Sam – of course I'm angry." Dean stated vehemently, softening his voice when he saw Sam shrink away from him. "I'm angry that you didn't tell me what was going on …and I'm angry at myself for not noticing that something was up …okay?"

Sam nodded in reply.

"So how about we leave this little talk 'til later …I really need to know what we're dealing with here …where you're hurt."

"My side." Sam's hand hovered over his injured side, not touching, just indicating the area of the knife wound.

Sam didn't want to actually touch his side. The whole area was throbbing with pain; even thinking about it made him feel like throwing up. He knew it was bad, but couldn't understand how such a small wound could still be causing so much agony.

Deep down, he was relieved that Dean had found out; that the burden he carried had been lifted and he no longer had to keep struggling on alone. He'd thought he needed more space, more freedom away from his over protective family, but he couldn't have been more wrong.

He was tired of being alone.

Sam felt Dean pull up his shirt, revealing his abdomen and chest area, causing him to shiver as the air hit his exposed skin.

"God." Dean muttered.

Sam raised his head and looked down his body. He was covered in bruises, the deep coloring accentuated against his pale skin. The bandage at his side was stained red with blood, the wound having resisted all his efforts to stem the bleeding.

"I need to take the bandage off okay?"

Sam nodded and laid his head back against the pillow. Clenching his teeth together, he waited in anticipation for the pain he knew was inevitable. He wasn't disappointed. Although his brother had tried to be gentle, the skin around the puncture hole was red and tender; pulling away the bandage agony. He closed his eyes and panted through the spikes of pain, holding back the tears that threatened to spill.

The wound was relatively small – smaller than Dean had expected; the area surrounding it mottled in bruises and stained with fresh and dried blood. Rising quickly, he went into the bathroom and fetched a couple of towels and the first aid kit. Returning to Sam's side, he started cleaning the area around the wound, listing to his brother's breath hitch every time he pressed too firmly on the bruised flesh.

He felt way out of his element. The wound was deep; it had to be to still be bleeding after this amount of time. It had also been left too long untreated and if Sam's slight fever was anything to go by, infection may have already set in. Sam needed more medical help than he could administer – he needed a doctor.

"Sam, I need you to tell me exactly what happened."

Sam relayed the events of the previous evening, his words concise but leaving nothing out. Dean paused a couple of times in his ministrations as Sam went over the facts, but he didn't interrupt the rendition.

"You clean this straight away?" Dean asked, indicating the still seeping wound. He focused on his brother's injuries but stored the rest of the information away for a later time. He wasn't going to forget the fact that somebody had hurt his little brother.

Sam nodded, biting on his lower lip as Dean stared at him. "Shouldn't still be bleeding." Dean muttered to himself, applying a little more pressure over the injury.

Sam felt relieved to have all the facts out in the open with his brother. He was so utterly exhausted that he was sure that it was only the pain and worry that had been keeping him awake, but now even that was not enough to keep him tethered to consciousness. He just wanted to go back to sleep now that he was in the comfort of his own bed. Dean knew all the facts now, and he trusted his brother to take care of everything. He let his eyes drift shut, desperate to finally give in to the demands of his body.

"Sam, I need to call Dad…" Dean's words jolted him back from the verge of sleep.

"Dean no …you can fix this." Sam slurred.

"Sam, he's gonna find out…"

"Promise me you won't tell him …please Dean."

Dean had to steel himself to look away from the soulful eyes begging him to acquiesce. "I'm sorry, I can't do that Sammy; Dad needs to know …you need to see a doctor …I'm sorry, I can't fix this."

"Dean." Sam pleaded.

**_To be continued..._**

**oooOOOooo**

**_Reviews are love._**


	7. Trust

**Author's Note:** _Thank you to everyone who has had the patience to stay with me on this fic. I sincerely apologize for the extended break between chapters. I am now back on track and updating regularly._

_Thank you to everyone who sent their well wishes after I injured my hand and especially to ziggy.uk who prodded me back to writing._

_Well, I hope I haven't forgotten the plot, here goes…_

**Chapter S****even**

Dean looked down at his blood stained hands and mentally hardened himself against Sam's pleading voice. He knew things had been a little strained between Sam and himself recently, but now wasn't the time to mend that bond. If Sam was so desperate to grow up, to be independent, then he needed to start accepting some responsibility and this included dealing with consequences that he would rather avoid. Their dad finding out about Sam's neighborhood run-in seemed to be inconsequential in the bigger scheme of things, and he didn't understand how Sam couldn't see this. A bleeding wound trumped parental chastisement every time.

One look at Sam and their dad would know something was up. Pale skin glistened with the fine sheen of fever and pain was clearly etched on his face. A single glance and their Dad would know Sam wasn't well. A few pointed questions and Sam would crumple under their dad's glare, spilling the beans despite his best intentions to the contrary.

"We'll go to the clinic a few blocks over."

"Dean …please."

"Sam, do you trust me?" Dean looked intently at his younger brother, maintaining eye contact as he asked the question, a small sliver of fear in the back of his heart that he mightn't get the answer he was anticipating.

"Yeah, you know I do." Sam didn't falter in his immediate response.

As relief flowed through him, Dean released the deep breath he hadn't been aware he was holding until the answer spilled from his brother's lips.

"Sam, trust me on this …I need to get you to a doctor."

Tired of fighting, tired of the pain, Sam saw little point in continuing to be defiant. Above all else, he trusted his brother to do what he thought was right. What was necessary. He nodded his agreement, unable to give a verbal answer as a sharp shaft of pain tore through his body. Clenching the bed covers in his white knuckled fist, he fought another wave of nausea as he half-heartedly listened to his brother rattle off instructions. Dean's voice faded in and out, and he really couldn't get a grasp on what he was saying, but he nodded anyway, giving Dean complete trust to take care of everything. He let his eyelids slip to half-mast as he no longer felt any compulsion to keep up the charade and could submit to his body's desire to sleep.

"Sam …Sam …Sammy!"

His brother calling his name registered on his subconscious and Sam nodded automatically in reply, too tired to give any other response.

Too nauseous to risk opening his mouth.

Too dizzy to fully open his eyes.

"Sam, you with me here?" Dean gently shook his brother's arm trying to rouse him.

Sam groaned in response, trying to shrink further into the welcoming comfort of the bed.

"Sam!" Dean fought down the panic as he demanded a coherent response from his brother.

"Dean…" Sam tried to focus on his brother's face "…don't feel so good." He swallowed back the saliva pooling in his mouth and closed his eyes again as the spinning room only increased the feeling of nausea that refused to abate.

"Sam, look at me …open your eyes."

Sam opened his eyes to mere slits and looked in the direction of his brother's voice.

"I need you to stay awake …just a little bit longer …okay?"

"…'kay." He mumbled, feeling the shift on the edge of the mattress as Dean moved away from the bed.

Dean raced to the bathroom and grabbed another towel to use as a makeshift bandage. He hated to leave his brother like this even for a moment, but he needed a dry towel to keep pressure on the wound on the way to the clinic.

Sam concentrated on following Dean's instruction. His eyes felt so heavy but he kept them open through sheer force of will. Every time they threatened to slip closed he jerked himself awake and made sure they stayed open. Although still reluctant to go to the clinic, at this point he'd do anything to lessen the nausea threatening again to spill and the pain that caused his whole body to tremble.

As the bile rose in his throat his eyes closed instinctively. It was as if his body couldn't cope with the sensory overload and determined his vision to be non essential at this time. Sam knew this time he wouldn't be able to stave off the vomit as his stomach muscles clenched in anticipation of expelling what little contents still remained in his stomach.

He willed his body to move, to rise off the bed and reach the bathroom before the nausea hit, but all he could manage was to move his head weakly to the side.

Although he expected it, he gagged as the bile rose swiftly up his throat as if taking him by surprise. He spluttered as the first mouthful of acid bile spilled onto the sheets and he tried to move away from the warm puddle. His body heaved again and he lost the energy to move as his body was overcome with the desperate need vomit up everything he'd ever eaten.

He choked as he tried to shift his head but he had nowhere to move to as the rancid remains of his stomach contents pooled around his mouth, soaking into the thin bed sheets. He struggled to catch his breath as the vomit clogged his throat, the feeling making him gag again and again as he struggled to draw in air.

Dean raced back into the bedroom, towel clasped tightly in his hand. One glance at his brother and he sped towards the bed, skidding to a stop when he reached his brother's side.

"Shit" he muttered as he lent down next to the bed and pulled Sam across the bed and closer to the edge so that his head was over the edge of the mattress, face towards the floor. "Come on, just breathe" he coaxed as Sam continued to gag.

Sam opened his eyes and looked at his brother in desperation, needing to convey his need.

"Its okay Sammy, I gotcha." Dean whispered.

The firm thump between his shoulder blades helped him clear he last of the vomit from his mouth. He spat on the floor as he tried to clear his mouth of the rancid taste, his breathing now more under control. He didn't have the strength to shift further back onto the bed so instead he relaxed into Dean's grasp, letting his brother take some of his weight. Black spots danced around his peripheral vision and he closed his eyes again, welcoming the blackness that beckoned him. He heard his brother calling his name but couldn't respond, instead falling into the bliss of unconsciousness.

Dean gave Sam's shoulders a gentle shake but it elicited no response. Easing Sam to lie back flat on the bed he took in his lax features and realized that he'd be getting no reply. The panic that had hit him on re-entering the room upped a notch but he fought it down, knowing that panic wouldn't help. He took a deep breath, letting the years of training with his father take over. Only the slight tremble in his hands betrayed his outward calm.

Not trusting himself to carry Sam to the car he did the only other thing he could. He pulled his phone from his pocket and called for an ambulance.

**oooOOOooo**

The blur of the ambulance ride was quickly replaced by the hive of activity that surrounded them as soon as they entered the hospital. Sam remained still and unresponsive on the gurney, leaving it up to Dean to answer the questions of the medical staff as he hovered by Sam's side, needing to keep his brother close.

As the clothes were stripped from his brother's pale frame he finally realized how extensive the bruising was that covered Sam's shoulders, chest, sides and back. It looked as through Sam had come off second best after a run in with a truck. How he'd managed to get through nearly a full day of school was beyond Dean's comprehension.

As the medical staff completed their questioning his presence in the room quickly shifted to that of a hindrance and he fought a losing battle to remain by his brother's side. A stocky nurse escorted him from the room and it was only his desire to see that Sam got one hundred percent of the staff's attention that made him see reason and leave the room without causing more of a scene. If the frantic sounding conversation between the doctors was anything to judge by, Sam needed all the help he could get. With the promise that someone would update him on Sam's condition soon, he slumped into the closest chair in the small waiting room and rested his head in his hands. No stranger to hospital waiting rooms, he knew he could be in for quite a wait and that there was little he could do to speed things up.

**oooOOOooo**

One tense phone call to his father and two barely palatable cups of coffee later and Dean was no closer to any news on Sam's condition. Fingering the change in his pocket, he was just considering the merits of a third cup of coffee when he saw his father's commanding figure stride through the doors. He saw his father glance around the room, seeking, before making eye contact and moving purposefully in his direction.

Dean stood up as his father approached, feeling a little of the burden shift from his shoulders. His father was so strong, dominant, his mere presence in the room made it feel as if a small measure of control was back in their court. His dad the hero, he grimaced at the analogy, yet at the same time needing it to be true.

"Dad…" The single uttered word held so much meaning, so much hope.

"Dean …"

A firm hand clasped his shoulder and he sunk back down onto the chair, his father taking the seat by his side. Dean briefly filled his dad in on the details he'd skipped over on the phone, his eyes flitting between his dad and the door, hoping that there'd be news soon.

Conversation soon lapsed into tense silence as both Winchesters waited impatiently for an update on Sam's condition. They took it in turns pacing the floor, periodically going to the nurses' station and asking for news on Sam, only to get the same rehearsed non-committal reply.

Ironically, when a weary doctor stood in the doorway and called for the family of Sam Winchester it took them both a moment to jolt into action. When the doctor's words finally penetrated, they nearly tripped over each other in their haste to make their presence known.

_**To be continued...**_

**oooOOOooo**

**Reviews are love.**


	8. Winchester Revenge

**Author's Note:** _I feel truly awful for not giving individual thanks for the reviews, but believe me when I say I read them all with fervor after I post each chapter. Even now that I've written a few fics, I'm still plagued with a bit a trepidation each time I post. So – thank you for the great response._

**Chapter ****Eight**

The narrow hospital bed was flanked by the two older Winchesters keeping an observant eye on the youngest. Senses seemed to be heightened when you were waiting, ears attuned to the slightest change in breathing, the subtle shift of limbs. But Sam remained unnaturally still.

The various pieces of hospital equipment attested to the fact that Sam was recovering, but he was still to regain consciousness. The doctor assured Dean that Sam should wake up at any time now, and he was getting desperate to see his brother open his eyes. Only then would he be able to breathe more freely and feel his worry lessen.

It had been a long twenty four hours since they'd arrived at the hospital. Sam had undergone emergency surgery to repair a nick in his intestine and clean out the infection in his abdominal cavity. The strong course of antibiotics he was receiving through his IV would hopefully fight off the rest of the infection.

It had been a close call. Too close. He felt a block of ice enclose his heart when he thought of what the repercussions might have been had he not got Sam to the hospital when he did.

His father had remained stoically silent through most of the ordeal and Dean was getting afraid that soon he might crack. His face was lined with the grim expression of repressed anger and Dean just hoped that when he finally let forth it wouldn't be directed at Sam. Sam still looked so pale and fragile as if a single breath of wind would blow him away and Dean felt a fierce surge of protectiveness wash over him. He'd gladly take the blame for the current situation if it would spare his brother. After all, it hadn't been only Sam who'd 'fucked up' as Sam had so eloquently put it. He still felt the lingering effects of the guilt that assuaged him every time he thought of Sam lying in the bed across the room from him injured and bleeding while he'd been only a feet away completely oblivious. He couldn't help but wonder how many other times Sam had needed his help and he hadn't been there for him. Maybe he had unthinkingly pushed his brother away and this was why Sam had been reluctant to confide in him. With renewed resolve he decided that things were going to change.

A small twitch on Sam's face caught his attention and he focused on his brother hoping that this was the first sign that he was waking.

"Hey Sam." Dean leant in closer to the bed, rubbing his fingers rhythmically up and down Sam's arm.

Sam's head tilted fractionally towards the sound of Dean's voice.

"Dad I think he's waking up."

John pulled himself away from the thoughts he'd been lost in and raised his eyes towards his youngest.

Another small movement from Sam confirmed Dean's suspicions.

"Sammy, you with us son?" John spoke with soft purpose as he moved in a little closer to the bed.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam opened his eyes accompanied with a small groan as the harsh hospital lighting assaulted his vision. He wanted to block out the bright lights, the pungent smell of antiseptic and most of all the deep lying pain throbbing with a dull ache throughout his body.

He wanted to wind back the clock to before this had all happened. There was nowhere to hide now. No cover-up adequate to conceal his mistakes. No excuse for what he had done.

His family knew the truth now.

He was a 'fuck-up.'

Not capable of looking after himself.

He saw any chance of freedom slipping from his grasp. The bindings holding him to the family would be tightened now. He'd be lucky if he was allowed to walk to school without his dad or Dean shadowing him. Meeting up with friends or participating in after school activities were definitely out. He swallowed, his mouth bone dry, knowing that he had no one to blame but himself.

"Sammy?" Dean pleaded for a response.

Sam blinked against the fluorescent light flickering above him. "Dean" he answered before turning his head and acknowledging his father. "Dad." His tongue felt glued to the top of his mouth and he didn't know what else to say, instead licking his lips and scanning the room in a desperate search for water as he delayed the inevitable.

It only took Dean a minute to understand what he needed. Without needing to utter a word a glass of water was procured and his Dad lifted his head up from the pillow as Dean held the glass to his lips. He drank thirstily as the cool water soothed his parched throat and wanted to complain when Dean pulled the still half full glass away and his Dad laid his head back down.

"That's enough for now …don't want you puking up all over the bed again." Dean grimaced at the memory still fresh in his mind.

"Sorry." Sam whispered, not sure if he was apologizing for the whole ending up in the hospital drama or just for the puking on the bed incident.

He tried to focus his bleary eyes on his Dad who had remained silent since he woke up. Although his father's mere presence made him feel safe and secure, he couldn't suppress the small niggle of apprehension as he looked at his stern face, wondering whether he was feeling anger or just disappointment.

"Dad, I …ah …I'm…" Sam tried to lift his hand to wipe away the bead of sweat that hung on his lashes further hindering his already blurry vision.

The IV pulled in his arm and his Dad restrained him with little effort, laying his hand back down on top of the crisp white sheets.

"Shhh …just rest for now." John raked his fingers through his son's hair, pushing the sweaty locks off his fevered forehead.

Sam closed his eyes. It took him only moments to drift back to sleep.

**oooOOOooo**

John raked his fingers through his own hair, fighting back the weariness that flowed through his own body. He looked across at his eldest son and noticed that he also looked ready to drop, barely managing to keep his eyes open.

"Dean, why don't you go home, catch a few hours sleep?"

"Nah, I'm right."

"I can stay here with Sammy."

"I'm good."

"Dean, go home, freshen up – God knows you need it, and come back in a few hours."

At his Dad's comment, Dean looked down at himself, a feeling of revulsion causing him to pull his shirt away from his body. One glance at his shirt front and he knew it was vomit staining the lower edges.

"Ugh …maybe you're right." Dean stated; standing and unbuttoning his shirt before removing it and scrunching it into a ball. Small stains still adhered to his t-shirt but he resisted the urge to pull that over his head.

"You'll call me …if Sam …"

"I'll call you if there's any change. Now go home …for God's sake, take a shower …and try to get some sleep."

**oooOOOooo**

It felt strangely odd to John to be alone in the room with his youngest. He and Sam rarely spent time alone together without Dean as a buffer between them. Things had been getting worse as Sam progressed through his teenage years. They just struggled to find some common ground on which to communicate. He knew it was his fault as much as Sam's that most of their conversations turned into a battle of wills, even over the smallest of things.

Sam was always questioning and seeking answers that he just didn't have. He couldn't control himself when his patience snapped when Sam sought clarification instead of just following a simple order. Unlike Dean. His eldest never questioned him and he'd gotten used to the blind obedience, easily angered when Sam's attitude was in such stark contrast to his brother's.

He knew he struggled to show it, but he admired Sam's independent streak. His questioning and search for answers had saved their asses on more than a few hunts. He just worried that his lack of discipline would cause him to be vulnerable. A good soldier always followed orders. Always.

And his fears and he'd been proved right.

Looking over the prone form of his youngest he guessed that this time Sam has learned his lesson in the hardest possible way. It was one he wished he could have saved him from.

He massaged his fingers across his temple trying to keep the weariness at bay. Shifting further down into the chair he made himself as comfortable as possible, settling in to stay by his son's bed-side.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean sharpened his knife, the familiar action doing nothing to settle his seething anger. The thugs that had hurt his kid brother were still out there. Walking free. It just didn't feel right. He'd been restraining himself from going after them. He felt that Sam had given him enough information to seek out and identify the guys responsible for the attack, but he'd been biding his time. He needed to make sure that Sam was okay before he took any action. Sam might need him, and at the moment that took precedence. Sliding the knife back in its sheath he placed it on the table before grabbing his jacket and heading back to the hospital.

Sam was asleep when he arrived. Even though it had been about 24 hours since the surgery his brother was still sleeping a lot, his body obviously needing the rest to recover. His dad looked up when he entered and Dean noticed that his face was looking haggard from lack of sleep.

"Any change?" He asked, dropping on to the other chair beside the bed.

"Fever's dropped …he's woken up a few times but hasn't really been that coherent."

"Doc say anything?"

"Yeah, we just have to wait …real helpful." John grumbled.

Dean brushed a hand through Sam's hair, the curls slightly damp against his fingers. "Come on kiddo, you can fight this."

Keeping his fingers entwined in Sam's hair and fiddling with the tendrils he broached the subject that had been plaguing his thoughts. "Dad, those guys that hurt Sammy, we have to…"

"Yeah, I know son. Their time will come. Just wait a bit longer okay …I don't want you going off half cocked by yourself …you've seen what they did to Sam …doesn't matter how good you are, four against one aren't odds in your favor. Doubt they're going anywhere …soon as Sam's out of the woods we'll go settle ourselves a few scores." John didn't like the situation any more than Dean.

**oooOOOooo**

The sound of familiar voices penetrated Sam's subconscious, pulling him from a heavy sleep. The strong smell of antiseptic reminded him that he was in the hospital – the last place he wanted to be.

"Sammy?"

"Son?"

Sam heard the questioning voices from opposing sides of the bed and opened his lead-laden eyes, looking from his brother to his father. As a worst-case scenario he hadn't pictured this.

The epitome of failure.

Arguing self-reliance and independence while lying prone on a hospital bed really wasn't going to cut it. All his dreams for the future seemed to crumble before his eyes and he struggled to contain the tears threatening to fall. He refused to show another sign of weakness.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat as he looked into the concerned faces of his only family. He didn't know what they were waiting for. An explanation? An apology? Reassurance that he'd go back to blindly following their direction, never stepping out of line again?

Maybe they were right. The facts pretty much spoke for themselves. He was reliant on his family, more so right now than ever before.

"Sorry" he mumbled.

"How're you feeling son?" John asked, ignoring his son's mumbled word, instead focused on making sure Sam wasn't in pain.

"I'm fine." Sam replied, biting back a whimper of pain as he tried to push himself up a little further in the bed.

"You hurting?" John asked; the question superfluous as he'd seen Sam grimace in pain. Without hesitation he pushed the call button beside the bed.

"It's not too bad." Sam responded automatically.

"Sam?" Dean cut in, searching his brother's eyes for the truth.

Sam crumpled under the close inspection. His side was throbbing and his body was on fire. He shifted uneasily on the bed. "Hurts."

"Yeah, well I hear they have some pretty goods meds in this place. I'm sure they'll be able to give you something to make it all better." Dean smiled weakly, feeling relief wash over him as a nurse entered the room.

"Good to see someone awake for a change," the nurse stated, inserting a thermometer into Sam's ear as she busied with his chart.

Sam gave a weak rendition of a smile as the nurse made a few adjustments to the equipment at his bedside.

"Can you give him something for the pain?" Dean asked.

"How bad is the pain Sam?" The nurse asked, pulling aside the sheets and lifting the hospital gown to peel back his bandage and check his wound.

"Not too bad." Sam gasped as she pressed around the sutured site.

"On a scale of one to ten?" She asked, covering him back up.

"Three."

"That's probably a six." Dean replied, doubling Sam's estimation, knowing from just looking at his brother that Sam was in more pain than he was willing to let on. For whatever reason.

"Now that you're awake your doctor will be by to see you shortly, I'll have him write you up for something to help you sleep." The nurse returned his chart to the end of the bed. "He should be along in a few minutes."

"Thanks." John stated as the nurse made to slip from the room.

"Hear that Sammy. They'll give you something to help with your beauty sleep …God knows you need all the help you can get …I set pretty high standards." Dean grinned.

Sam glared at his brother. "Pity some of your other standards aren't so high."

"Oh Sammy, I'm wounded. I can't help it if everyone wants a taste …I've got a moral duty to share …bring a little bit of pleasure into…"

"Yeah, _little bit of pleasure_ – with emphasis on the '_little_'". Sam let a small smile drift across his face at his brother's affronted look as he interrupted his musings.

"How's my patient today?" The doctor breezed into the room, putting a halt to the heckling between the brothers.

Sam groaned. God, what was he, like five years old. He plastered an overly bright smile on his face.

"I'm fine …when can I go home?"

"You're still recovering from surgery Sam. Let's take a look shall we."

The doctor mimicked the nurse's actions in checking his wound site before grabbing his chart and adding a few notes.

"Well, looks like you're healing nicely, though your body's still fighting the effects of the infection. I'd like to keep you in for a few more days to monitor your progress."

"But…" Sam started.

"I'm going to write you up for something to help you sleep a little easier …with a bit more rest and taking things easy for a while we'll hopefully see you on the road to a full recovery before you know it." The doctor gave Sam a wide jovial smile.

Too jovial Sam decided. People that were overly happy for no apparent reason made him uneasy. As far as he could see, there was no reason for anyone to be that happy, especially if you spent your days around sick people. He'd be much happier when he was out of this place and back at home.

Sam was grateful when the doctor finally made his exit. He relaxed back on the bed and closed his eyes. All the activity had rendered him exhausted, and it was only the throbbing pain which kept him awake. When the nurse scuttled into the room a moment later with a couple of blue pills for him to swallow he accepted them eagerly. Washing them down with a mouthful of water he waited for them to take effect, needing the escape that sleep offered.

**oooOOOooo**

Winchester justice. It was more than they deserved, Dean thought as he made his way down the dimly lit hospital corridor towards his brother's room.

Dean rotated his aching jaw. Between the four of them, the thugs had only managed to breach his defenses once, but it had been a solid hit square on the jaw. It hurt like a bitch.

Even though they were both itching for the fight they hadn't wanted to leave Sam alone in the hospital so his Dad had resigned himself to staying behind. He was glad though that he had heeded his father's advice and co-opted the help of a fellow hunter in the area to dish out a little revenge on Sam's attackers. The youths didn't fight well, but they fought dirty.

He couldn't deny that it had felt good. Almost too good. He'd had to draw upon all of his reserves to pull back his fists as the final thug had hit the ground. Just the thought of his brother in the hospital bed had been enough to make him want to hit and kick the youths even when they lay unmoving on the cold gravel.

Who ever said that revenge was sweet was right. Even the pain in his jaw was not enough to deflate his high.

A smile lit his face as he turned the corner to Sam's room. His Dad stood outside the room, leaning his well built frame against the wall. Dean quickened his pace, smile dropping from his face as he looked into his father's eyes.

**oooOOOooo**

**Author's Note:**_ I think I started this fic with something along the lines of "… no time to write an epic…" Well, I seem to have made a liar out of myself. I was kind of thinking that I'd finish this story with this chapter, but I think (hope) just one more._

_**Reviews are love.**_


	9. Family

**Author's Note: **_Medical knowledge would be a wonderful thing – but I don't have it. Please excuse any mistakes in this area; Google is a poor substitute for medical training._

_I really appreciate the reviews for the last chapter – many many thanks._

**Chapter ****Nine**

Sam closed his eyes letting the exhaustion wash through his body. All he wanted to do was sleep but it felt as though every time he drifted off he was woken up again. His father had made little attempt to engage him in conversation and although he welcomed the steady presence at his side, he was glad for the reprieve.

He really didn't feel so great. He wasn't really sure how long he'd been in the hospital as real time seemed to have lost all meaning. With nothing to do, time seemed to move immeasurably slow. He listened to the beep of monitors which indicated the seconds passing and the hourly observations from the nursing staff which measured the hours. Night and day had lost all relevance. Already he felt that he'd been here too long and the small room's white washed walls were making him a little claustrophobic. Any time in a hospital was too long. But he'd thought he should be feeling better by now, and he couldn't understand why Dean or his Dad hadn't tried to spring him free.

Shifting a little, he tried to get more comfortable, willing sleep to come more quickly, for time to pass more rapidly.

Why couldn't they turn off the lights to make resting a little easier.

Even with his eyes closed he could see the imprinted image of the room spinning around him. He clenched his fists in the sheets in an attempt to steady himself even though he knew deep down that he wasn't really moving at all.

He felt dizzy.

Disorientated.

It felt as though someone was squeezing his chest, making it more difficult to draw air into his lungs.

He opened his eyes and stared at the flashing numbers on the medical equipment, mesmerised by their incessant rhythm but unable to fully comprehend their meaning.

He knew something wasn't right.

"Dad?" He whispered the word on a pant of exhaled breath.

Sam watched as his father stirred in the armchair and he silently willed him to hear his call.

He kept his eyes on his father as he watched him jerk awake as if suddenly remembering where he was. 'Help me' he pleaded with his eyes, every breath shorter and harder to inhale.

He tried to control the pain coursing through his system as he suffocated in his bed. Mere minutes felt like hours as his lungs ached from lack of oxygen and his vision became blurry.

A strong hand clasped his as his backed arched involuntarily as his starved lungs tried to find air, his mouth wide open as he gasped to breathe in even a shallow mouthful of life giving oxygen. Tears sprung in his eyes as he struggled, hating the weakness of his own body.

**oooOOOooo**

John clasped his son's hand in his own as he reached across and pressed the red emergency call button beside the bed.

He watched in horror as Sam struggled to breathe. "Come on son; don't do this ….you need to breathe."

"God dammit Sammy…" John yanked the pillows from under his son's head so that he was laying flat on the bed, hoping that this change in position would help him.

He felt helpless as Sam continued to gasp in shallow tortured breaths, Sam's skin paling further as he continued to struggle for air.

"Somebody help …we need help in here!" John yelled; no longer trying to disguise the panic that was growing as he watched his son's labored breathing.

Monitors beeped loudly in the room and he wondered when they had started and what their intrusive noise meant. Was Sam still breathing?

Help arrived en masse and John stood by silently and watched as the medical staff fought to stabilise his son. He didn't want to watch but he wasn't leaving.

The minutes felt like an eternity until Sam was breathing regularly on his own again and John never wanted to feel that level of helplessness again. He was a man of action and was well out of his comfort zone when he didn't have full control of a situation. To have to stand by and rely on others to help his son was his worst kind of nightmare come true. Having to rely on strangers is what made you weak, vulnerable, a feeling abhorrent to him. It didn't matter how old his son's got, how independent or self-sufficient, he knew he would always fell this fierce protectiveness over them.

He stood by Sam's bed, strong and silent, as all the staff except for the doctor departed and the room once again returned to calm. Except for the oxygen mask over his son's face, the last few minutes of frantic activity might have never happened. Might have just been a bad dream. A nightmare.

Sam seemed peaceful now, his body finally succumbing to sleep. A little color was starting to return to his cheeks and his breathing was quiet but steady. John allowed himself to take a deep breath and consciously rotated his shoulders, willing his tense body to relax. The panic was over.

"What happened?" John asked the doctor in a hushed tone across Sam's bed. His youngest didn't even twitch at the added noise.

"We'll talk outside," the doctor gestured towards the hallway before making his last few notes on Sam's chart.

John waited for the doctor to finish and followed him out, keeping Sam's bed within his line of sight as he took up position just outside the doorway.

The doctor ran a hand through his hair, deciding where to start. "It looks like Sam has had a reaction to the drugs we administered …but we caught it in time. We had to administer an injection to get his breathing back under control, and we'll be monitoring his blood pressure and breathing closely over the next twenty-four hours to make sure that his condition remains stable. Has he had any adverse reactions to medications in the past?"

"No, I don't think so …ah no …he hasn't …I would've known." John scanned his memory, trying to recollect the many times Sam had ended up hurt and trying to remember any medications he'd been given.

"We'll run some tests just to make sure …sometimes a person won't have an allergic reaction to a drug when they first take it, instead, the first time or first several times they take the allergy-causing drug their immune system becomes sensitized to react when they next encounter that drug… which is why you can't assume just because Sam has had a medication before that it will be safe for him to have it again. You'll need to know what drugs to avoid should Sam require medical treatment in the future."

John nodded in reply. "So Sam …he's …everything's okay?"

"We'll keep monitoring him closely, but yes, barring any further complications, Sam should make a full recovery."

"Thanks." John gave the doctor a heartfelt smile and watched as he walked away. He looked into the room and saw his son sleeping peacefully and felt and enormous weight of relief wash over him. He leant his weight back against the solid cold wall, realising again just how close he had come to losing a son.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor and his hunter instinct kicked in as his body tensed and he raised his head – to look into the eyes of his eldest as Dean strode towards him.

**oooOOOooo**

Seeing his father leaning against the wall as if for support ignited a spark of fear in Dean. No, this couldn't be happening, he thought, he'd only been gone a few hours, Sammy had to be okay.

"Dad?" He croaked out as he approached; his voice suddenly dry. He was desperate for reassurance but afraid to hear what his father might say.

When he saw his father smile and nod a little of his tension eased. Reaching the doorway to Sam's room he stepped inside, releasing the breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding as he saw his brother lying in the hospital bed. Sam was alive.

He moved to his brother's side, taking in the oxygen mask over his face which hadn't been there earlier. Resting a hand for a moment over Sam's, he reclaimed his chair, pulling it next to the bed. Pushing a few stray locks of hair out of his brother's eyes, he took a deep breath before looking across at his father who was settling back into the chair on the other side of the bed.

Touching the edge of the oxygen mask covering Sam's mouth and nose before moving back to stoke Sam's hair, Dean waited for his father to start talking.

"Sam ah …he ah …had a reaction to some of the medication …scared the shit out of me … spoke to the doc …he said Sam's gonna be okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." John rubbed the frown lines on his forehead. "God, I thought …for a moment …I thought …God, he couldn't breathe …and the monitors all started beeping …I thought we might lose him …and there was nothing I could do."

Dean looked at his father in concern, unused to seeing him so shaken up.

"He's going to be okay." John confirmed, reassuring himself as much as Dean.

"Thank god." Dean relaxed a little, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

"How'd it go?" John asked, hoping that Dean had come out unscathed from his encounter.

"Let's just say that they got what was owing to them."

"Good."

**oooOOOooo**

A few days later and Sam was ready to crawl up the walls of his hospital bed. He felt much better – ready to break free.

The last few days had been nerve racking. Even after he was feeling much better, his father had refused his request for an early discharge, wanting him to stay confined until the doctor agreed that he could go home. To make matters worse, his father had rarely left the room, remaining in the chair beside his bed, asking him regularly how he was feeling but making little other attempt at conversation. He felt like a deer caught in headlights, constantly on edge, waiting for the bomb to fall.

He decided that maybe his Dad was waiting until they left the hospital before chewing him out. Even though he knew he deserved it didn't make it any easier. Yeah. He'd fucked up, but now he just wanted to find out what his sentence was going to be. Maybe, he thought, that was his Dad's plan, to make him sweat it out. After all, dread was just an added punishment.

"Hey Sammy." Sam looked up as his brother breezed into the room. "Ready to blow this joint?"

"Yeah."

Dean looked towards their father. "Doc's on his way down now." Dean turned towards Sam. "Looks like you'll get your wish, think the doc's gonna kick you free today puke boy." Dean grinned.

"Yeah, 'bout time."

When the doctor entered, Sam answered all his questions and submitted to his examination, trying to keep the hope from showing on his face. When the doctor finally announced that he could return home, a wide smile spread across his face. Even the stale smell of dust and mould would be preferable to the stark smell of antiseptic and bleach.

He was going home.

**oooOOOooo**

Walking through the front door of the house almost felt anti-climatic after so much anticipation. Nothing had changed. The house still looked run-down, uncared for and dirty. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that his father and Dean had spent almost as much time at the hospital as he had.

He headed straight to the couch, despite Dean's hand on his arm trying to steer him in the direction of the bedroom. Even though he was tired and his stitches were pulling, he wasn't yet ready to get back into bed. He just wanted to sit up for a little while, feel normal for a change. He was so sick of lying in bed.

"Ten minutes, then you're back to bed." Dean announced, lowering him onto the couch.

"Yes Florence." Sam quipped back.

"I mean it Sam. You heard what the doc said."

"Yeah, I'm stupid, not deaf." Sam replied.

"I wouldn't say stupid, but definitely …"

"Boys, give it a break. …Sam, you heard the doctor, your brother's right, ten minutes, then you have to go lie down."

"But…" Sam started.

"Sam, do we have a problem, 'cause I thought we wouldn't have to go into this …I know it seems unfair sometimes, but Dean and I, we give you orders for a reason son, for your own good …to keep you safe."

"Yeah Dad, I know …it's my fault, all of this, I fucked up, I know." Sam hung his head low.

"We need to know we can trust you son."

"You can Dad."

"Right, then ten minutes and into bed."

"Okay." Sam replied, raising his eyes to his father in surprise. Was that it, he wondered, looking at his father.

John looked into his son's wide gaze. If truth be known, at this moment he'd take questioning Sam, whingeing Sam and even defiant Sam – as long as he had breathing Sam.

"You know Sam, I think you leant your lesson this time …just don't let there be a next time …'cause if there is, I swear to God, I'll kill you myself." John smiled at Sam, belying the severity of his words.

"Thanks Dad." Sam pushed himself up and gave his Dad a hug. He felt as if the weight he'd been carrying around for days had finally been lifted off his shoulders.

Sam turned towards his older brother and stepped towards him. "Thanks Dean." Sam leaned in to give Dean a hug.

"Whoa puke boy, personal space." Dean hugged his brother back.

_End_

_Thanks for reading__ – hope you enjoyed. _


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